Happy Tuesday, My Friend!
As I write you this letter, it’s the first day of school for the kids here. There aren’t many other days during the year that can compete with the jingly-jangly, butterflies-in-the-tummy, nerves-on-edge feeling that the first day of school can bring. I think I still get that feeling just by osmosis on the first day of school here.
Way back when I was going to school, there was no question who your teacher was going to be that year. My little town had one teacher for each grade, and you knew who you were getting each year since you started kindergarten. I’m pretty sure that the elementary school teachers back then actually did live at the school. At night, they sat at their desks, laid their heads down on top of the next day’s lessons, and fell contentedly asleep. They must have had a closet of clothes somewhere so they could change outfits. Certainly, they never had to go to the bathroom. And they lived on a diet of apples brought in by their students. At least that’s how it was when I was a kid.
My heart still skips a little beat—well, actually, I take medication for that—but I get excited to see school supplies on sale in the stores. Is there truly anything better in life than an absolutely newly sharpened pencil? An unused eraser? Folders with no bent corners? Spiral notebooks with unsquashed spirals?
I don’t remember ever having a list of school supplies needed for my classroom. I remember gathering school supplies for my kids during their elementary school years. Were we equipping an entire household? Paper towels, tissues, disinfecting wipes, plastic bags, hand sanitizer. During my stint at motherhood, I’ve had kids attend school in three states: Minnesota, Delaware, and Florida. Florida’s school supply list was definitely the longest, but I was happy to contribute what they were asking for.
Perhaps the thing that varies the most from child to child back in my day was the size of the crayon box you had. I don’t think it was ever specified what size box of crayons we were to have. Maybe your parents got you the 8-count. That covers the basics. But then there were the 16- and 24-count boxes if you wanted to get into lighter and darker shades.
But, oh be still my third-grade heart . . . the 64-count box! You know what I mean! The one with the flip-top and all the separate little holders inside! The one with the sharpener in the back! (But did anyone ever use that?) The one with colors like “blue-green” and “green-blue.” “Cerulean” and “magenta.” For years I was sure that last color was pronounced: “magnetta.” Only the really rich kids got that mother of all crayon boxes. Or at least, that’s what I thought. I can’t remember where I landed in the great crayon count of 1969, but I don’t think it was with the 64s.
I’ve often thought back to those childhood years and remembered that I always had what I needed, but not always what I wanted. I had pencils, notebooks, and crayons, but maybe not the biggest and best. I don’t remember ever feeling I was lacking. Well, maybe only in the case of the magenta crayon. I loved that magenta crayon. I also didn’t grow up in an era where there were necessarily brand names that we all desperately wanted, at least not in elementary school. I had new clothes for the first day of school, probably ordered from the JCPenney catalog, probably like a lot of the other kids. A few years later, I’d be coveting my cousin’s Levi jeans, but not yet.
Now that I’m on “this side” of my life, I find that I “want” less. Or maybe I should say what I want isn’t material things. In fact, I feel like I’m on a bit of a “Swedish death cleaning” kick and trying to reduce the number of things in our house. We’ve lived in this house now for over 29 years and, man, can I pack a closet full!
What do I want? I want my kids to love their lives. I want them to love their spouses and wake up every day grateful for the lives they’ve been given. I want my grandchildren to have friends they can rely on, and know without a doubt that they are loved like crazy by their parents and grandparents. I want my siblings to know that I am so happy they are my sister and brother. I want my husband to know that he’s the love of my life and I couldn’t have imagined a better life than the one I’ve had with him. Most of all, I want everyone I love to be together for all of eternity.
That’s it. Anything above that would just be icing on an already delicious cake. Uh-oh, now I want cake… and maybe… that magenta crayon. Nah, I don’t need it.
What about you? Was there ever a time when you really wanted something for school, or do you remember that feeling of having just the basics? Have your “wants” shifted as you’ve grown older, or is there something you still treasure from your childhood? I’d love to hear your favorite back-to-school memory or a way your hopes have changed with time!
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
School days, School days, dear old golden rule days
Read-in’ and ‘rit-in’ and ‘rith-me-tic,
Taught to the tune of a hick-‘ry stick,
You were my queen in calico,
I was your bashful barefoot beau,
And you wrote on my slate, I love you so,
When we were a couple of kids.